


The Finer Qualities of Arthur Hastings

by SweetSorcery



Category: Poirot - Christie
Genre: 1930s, Cosy Detective, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, London, M/M, Rare Pairing, United Kingdom, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Hastings, having put his foot in it once again, assumes he has little value to Poirot. Naturally, he assumes his friend feels the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Finer Qualities of Arthur Hastings

Arthur Hastings peered into the menswear shop window, watching Poirot negotiate animatedly with the proprietor over something or other, and sighed. He was feeling rather annoyed with himself, and he certainly had good reason.

He had managed to make a complete fool of himself in front of one of Poirot's clients by putting his foot in it about something he knew nothing about. Women, namely. This was not the first time, and he had a dreadful feeling it would not be the last. This time, it had cost Poirot a case. He truly did not know how Poirot managed to put up with him.

Inside, Poirot was tipping his hat, smiling at the stop owner - who looked as if he had just made a day's worth of profit in the past five minutes, picked up a small parcel and made his way to the door.

Hastings hurried to open it for him.

"Ah, my dear Hastings. I hope I did not keep you waiting too long?"

"Of course not, Poirot," Hastings assured him, surprised by the friendly tone. After all, he had been told in no uncertain terms that he was not to accompany Poirot inside. "This is quite a change of mood, you know."

Poirot smiled, sphinx-like, and began to walk down the street, with Hastings falling into step with him.

"Look here, Poirot, about earlier--"

"No, no, no, Hastings. We need not speak of that now. Would you care for afternoon tea at The Ritz?"

Hastings blinked in surprise. "Why yes, I would." He hurried on ahead and opened the door of his car for Poirot.

* * *

They were sipping a tisane and a cup of Darjeeling, respectively, and indulging in Bundt cake and éclairs, when Poirot set the small parcel he had purchased on the table and nudged it towards Hastings with his fingertips.

"For you, my friend."

Hastings stared at him. "For me?"

"Oui. Merely a small gift."

To say Hastings was taken aback would be putting it mildly. "Thank you, Poirot," he muttered, his long fingers lifting the lid on the white velvet box. His eyes widened when he saw what was inside: a pair of cufflinks - circles of mother-of-pearl mounted in fine gold, each holding a perfect, faceted, centre-mounted sapphire.

"I say!" he exclaimed, delighted.

Poirot looked rather pleased with himself. "You like them?"

"They're proper stunners, Poirot. Thank you!" Hastings beamed at his friend. "Now, I don't pretend to be a jewellery connoisseur, but this is not a small gift."

Poirot shrugged. "It is nothing."

"It dashed well is, and you know it."

Poirot smiled. "Well... peut-être."

Hastings chuckled and picked up one of the cufflinks, examining it closely. "They're very elegant."

"Like you, mon ami," Poirot said, then looked slightly sheepish.

Hastings stared at him. "Oh." He was not in the habit of blushing, but then he was rarely paid that kind of impromptu compliment. "That's quite something, coming from you," he said softly.

Poirot, looking more than a little at sea himself, mumbled, "I speak merely the truth."

This reminded Hastings of the rather disastrous start to the afternoon, and in view of the generous gift, he felt he simply had to bring it up again.

"Look here, Poirot, you'd have knocked me for six on any given day with this, but I must say I'm a little confused about the timing. Did I, or did I not, make a complete ass of myself, less than two hours ago?"

Poirot chuckled. "My dear Hastings. It is likely that in the eye of Madame Rochester, you look like the ass, that is true. But to me, you are..." He struggled to find the exact right word. "Invaluable."

"How so?" Hastings asked, pleased but thoroughly befuddled.

"Because, mon ami, you say that which I dare not say, even when I find a case most distasteful. I rely on your honesty and sincerity as I do on your friendship." Watching Hastings' earlier blush return with a vengeance, he added softly, "And that is why I give you the sapphires. They are the symbols of some of these fine qualities of yours."

"I say, Poirot," Hastings muttered, then took a quick sip of his tea, more to hide behind the cup than to quench his thirst. When he re-emerged, he said, "And here I thought I'd made a mess of things merely by being me. I don't suppose I've ever been given quite this many gifts in one day."

Poirot smiled. "Ah, you see," he said jovially. "You need not change a thing about yourself."

Hastings returned his smile, making a mental note to find out more about these fine qualities Poirot saw in him.

The End


End file.
